


you gotta spend some time, love

by smutpeddler



Series: i will possess your heart [2]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: F/M, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutpeddler/pseuds/smutpeddler
Summary: In which the unreal ponder where they stand in reality and the only real person watches.





	you gotta spend some time, love

**Author's Note:**

> On my phone so tenses might be fucked
> 
> Tumblr; wherewecangazeintothestars.tumblr.com

Bethany can feel his eyes, she might not be able to see him in the pitch black of her back yard, but she knows he’s there. There’s something that makes her spine shiver and it isn’t the cool wind on her bare flesh. It’s deeper, it’s animal. Had those people felt like this? When she peaked through curtains and around corners? She shakes her head, throwing her t-shirt on the floor, they didn’t know to expect it. They didn’t know she was. But she knew who Patrick was and somehow, Patrick knew where she was. Behind the dryer, at her house, she places her hands on the window sill, but how? He couldn’t have followed, if she hadn’t seen him Bethany would’ve at least heard him. The cold sill cuts into her hips biting at the skin when she leans her torso out the window. The wind ruffles tight, blond curls, it rustles the tree branches, whistles in her ears but the blackness is still. Silent.

_I am not a whore! How dare you?_

Calling out doesn’t cross her mind, whether because she knows it won’t matter or she’s scared of what her own voice might sound like, the young girl isn’t quite sure. It’s his turn. To prowl, to watch. But that meant one more thing, it was his turn to get caught. She finds herself musing on the thought of if he’s ever been caught before, punished for his cruelty. It’s unlikely. She pulls herself back through the window but doesn’t step away, just pulls a cigarette from the top of her desk, nails scratching along the surface when she grabs the lighter. There’s something about the resistance of the wood, it soothes her nerves.

_And what am I supposed to call you, Carla?_

The words don’t register. Not like before. Instead the cigarette ignites between chapped lips, eyes never straying as smoke curls around her. She should close the window and the curtains. Go back to sitting on the bed and listening to an argument her parents have had for the billionth time. She should put on a shirt at least.

_Are you kidding me right now? Again? You want to do this again?_

Who might you be? He saw her then. He sees her now. It feels strange, almost like she doesn’t belong in her own skin anymore. Bethany meant invisible. And invisible meant Bethany. There was also the gnawing fact it was Patrick Hockstetter to consider. Darey’s resident psychopath that probably hadn’t been done justice by the rumours. Hurting children. Torturing animals. “Dates” gone horribly wrong. It should scare her, be enough to keep her away.

_Again? We never finished in the first place!_

It felt nice if she was honest, good even, to be seen. No matter how sinister it was, how depraved it might become, she wasn’t the muted girl in the back of the class. The girl who could skip gym and still be counted present. Bethany had always thought maybe she just couldn’t be seen, maybe she wasnt quite there. Quite real. She had to be real, right? If he had seen her she had to be, didn’t she?

_What more do you want? I fucked him! You know that!_

She flicks the burning butt out the window before leaning back outside the window. Something rustles the bushes, whether it’s wind or him, she’s not sure. But she knows he’s there. He has to be.

_I want you to tell me the truth!_

Her eyes scan the yard, looking for anything. She finds it at the corner, where the side fence meets the back fence, tree wild from years of being ignored. It’s her tree. It’s always been her tree. She knows that because her initials are carved in the trunk and her blood has watered its’ roots. The wind doesn’t break right, not the way it should. It’s him, it has to be.

_She’s yours Joshua! How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Bethany is yours!_

Her eyes cast down, it’s a reflection of the words. Those ever familiar words. Was she really anyone’s?

_Is she? Is she mine?_

“Bethany,” she calls into the dark, into the confusion, “My name is Bethany,” her voice strange to her ears after so many years spent in silence.

She wasn’t anyone’s. But when the wind shook the branches and the barest flame flickered from the corner she had to admit that might not be true. Maybe, just maybe, she was Patrick’s. And she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.


End file.
